Lone Star Daddy

“Sorry about that,” he said more or less automatically, regaining his manners.

She harrumphed and narrowed her pretty eyes. “Are you?”

He chuckled. So she wanted him to be blunt? “Of course not.” Any more than you are.

Her scowl deepened in a way that made him want to haul her into his arms and kiss her all over again. “Then?”

He rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand, considering. Eventually he decided to go with the truth. “Seemed like the polite thing to say, given the way you just kissed me back. And maybe wish you hadn’t?”

Rose sighed, unable to mask completely the turbulent emotion on her face. “With good reason.” She shoved a hand through her unruly curls, pushing the silky strands away from her forehead. “Unlike you, it’s not just me I have to worry about.”

Aware she had a point, Clint sobered. “Where are the triplets?”

“They’re downstairs, drawing you some ‘I’m Sorry for Making a Mess on Your Shirt’ pictures for you to take home.”

Reminded of why he had ventured up there in the first place, Clint looked at her formerly all-peach blouse. “Speaking of messes...” he drawled, pointing to her left breast.

She glanced down, saw the smear of honey, ketchup and mustard that spread from heart to sternum and looked even more horrified.

Knowing the tension needed to be eased, Clint quipped, “Well, at least you got some of it off my clothes. Although maybe not in the way we intended.”

* * *

IF SHE HAD been the kind of gal to throw a punch, she really would have decked the sexy cowboy opposite her right about now. For kissing her and making her feel the kinds of things she most certainly did not want to feel. Fortunately for both of them, she had always been able to keep her temper under wraps.

“Cute.” Rose brushed by him, headed for the linen closet. To get to it, she had to tug aside the circular shower curtain, which had been gathered in front of it.

Her back to Clint, she eased the closet door open and brought out a spray bottle of stain remover, several cleaning and pretreating pens, a washcloth and a towel.

Swinging back around, she gasped.

“Now what?” he asked, appearing even more baffled.

Rose’s eyes widened in shock. She’d thought he had been sexy as could be when he’d been all sweaty and working on the tractor. That was nothing compared with how magnificent he looked when freshly showered and shaven, smelling of leather and spice. “You took your shirt off!”

He gestured aimlessly, more comfortable half-naked than she could ever hope to be.

“What was I supposed to do? I can’t have it on while you spray the stains.” Furrowing his brow, he nodded at the green bottle in her hand. “I’m allergic to that stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He lounged against her bathroom counter, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his brawny chest. “Wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides,” he teased, “it’s not like you haven’t seen me with my shirt off before. Monday—”

She cut him off with an indignant huff. “I remember.” Boy, did she ever remember. She’d dreamed about it two nights in a row. Only in her dreams, his shirt wasn’t all he had taken off.

Meanwhile, he evidently had his own unshared thoughts. His gaze drifted over her lazily, lingering on the stains—which happened to be mostly across her breasts—before leisurely cataloguing her throat and face, and returning to linger, even more seductively, on her eyes. “Then what’s the big deal?” he asked huskily.

The big deal was they’d just been making out, Rose thought in exasperation. The big deal was his nipples were still every bit as taut as hers. Not that she had needed that confirmation. His strong arousal had been evident elsewhere, too...

Rose shut her eyes for a moment, willing the desire welling inside her to go away. Then she asked with exaggerated patience, “Do you have any other shirts with you? In your truck, maybe?” A lot of people who worked outdoors—like herself—carried extra.

He continued watching her, inscrutable now. “No.”

She did her best to become poker-faced as well. “Are you interested in a Rose Hill Farm T-shirt?”

“Sure. Except it would have to be washed first. Because I’m allergic to a lot of the anti-wrinkle coatings on new clothes, too.”

Aware she no longer needed the stain removers, at least in that moment, she set them down. “You really are difficult.”

Clint shrugged his shirt back on. Winked. “And in other respects, I am apparently oh-so-easy.”

Not from what she had heard.

He hadn’t dated anyone since he had been back in town. In fact, he had been as monk-like in his life as she had been nun-like in hers. At least, she’d been nun-like up until the last month or so.

Which begged the question—why had he kissed her?

Why was he still looking like he wanted to put the moves on her again? And most importantly, why did she want him to do just that?

Rose swallowed and tried to pull herself together.

“Look,” he said. “All kidding aside, there’s no reason for you to worry about my shirt. I’ll just take it home and wash it there in the detergent I know I’m not allergic to.”

Like he had originally suggested.

Sighing, Rose watched him button his stained shirt from the bottom. She’d let pure passion lead her astray once before and knew better than to let it happen again, no matter what her still-humming body wanted. “Maybe that would be best.”

Together they headed back downstairs. They’d just reached the foyer when the doorbell rang. Rose moaned.

Clint slid a hand beneath her elbow and slanted her a glance. “Not expecting anyone?”

“No. But it’s always like this when a brand-new crop of good produce comes in.”

Belatedly seeming to realize he still had a grip on her, Clint dropped his hand and peered at the clock—which now said seven-thirty. From the kitchen, the kids could be heard chattering about their drawings. “Don’t you have regular business hours?”

“Yes,” Rose said, over her shoulder, opening the door, “And no.”

On the other side stood her triplet sisters, Violet and Lily. And the oldest of them all the only single-birth McCabe daughter, Poppy.

The trio took in Rose’s shirt, then Clint’s. In unison, they started to laugh. Then Poppy blurted out, “What have you two been up to?”

Chapter Four (#ulink_bf55fa81-f7b1-5b24-8543-c3a31f9d004a)

Rose was trying to figure out how to answer that when the triplets joined them, artwork in hand.

“Hi, aunts,” they said.

“Hi, kids,” Poppy, Lily and Violet said in return, setting down a picnic basket and zip-style insulated nylon cooler.